


Infinite Complexities

by kianspo



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Podfic Available, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Public Sex, spones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianspo/pseuds/kianspo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t care who watches,” he murmurs against Spock’s mouth. “I ain’t having sex with you unless I can kiss you. Unless I can see your face. Unless I can look at you and know that it’s you I’m doing this with.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infinite Complexities

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Бесконечные сложности](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9332147) by [allayonel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allayonel/pseuds/allayonel)



> Written for a tumblr prompt.
> 
> Yeah, okay, yes. I wrote an 'aliens made them do it.' I have no shame. Okay, I have a little shame, but not enough to stop me... evidently. Read and count cliches at your own leisure. I wish I could say I'm sorry, but it's more shadenfreude. I blame Beyond for this mess so much oh my God...
> 
> Also, I rated it Explicit just to be safe, but it's not really all that explicit. VERY MINOR spoilers for ST Beyond.

\--

“ _You want us to do what?_ ”

Spock sends him a warning look, but McCoy can’t really control himself. The Adenians blink at him with their mesmerizing silver eyes.

“You are warriors, are you not? In our culture, the warriors are the most distinguished caste,” the leader explains placidly, seemingly unaffected by McCoy’s outburst. “They are the most honorable and trustworthy of our people. They never lie and they share everything with each other. The trust we have in them is absolute.”

She pauses to smile at her entourage, who all gaze serenely back, and okay, that’s a lot of silver-green skin on display. For a well-developed industrial society, the Adenians are sure frivolous enough with their fashion choices. 

“If the Federation wishes to forge an alliance with Adenia,” the leader continues, “we require proof that your people can be just as open and honest with each other. The Klingons have made us an offer of protection, but they have refused to undergo the ritual. If you also refuse, we could not ally ourselves with your people any more than we could with them.”

McCoy stares at her in mounting horror. She keeps on explaining the specifics of the ritual and its history, but he’s not listening, the picture already crystal clear in his mind.

Adenia is rich in dilithium. Adenia is as close to the Klingon Empire as it is to Federation space. Without Starfleet’s protection, the Klingons will occupy this world by the end of the year. The Federation won’t be able to protect these people without a formal alliance. 

The Adenians will not enter into a formal alliance with the Federation unless its two emissaries have sex.

The scenario is so absurd, it’s the stuff of anecdotes that even first-year cadets sneer at. Yet, incredibly, here they are.

“Look, we’re trying to do you people a favor,” McCoy says, earning himself another vaguely irritated look from Spock.

“Your Excellency,” Spock says smoothly, drawing her attention to himself with practiced ease of someone who grew up in an ambassador’s house. “What my companion is trying to express is, we are not a warrior culture. Perhaps an exception can be made in view of the strategic situation that Adenia currently finds itself in.” He opens his hands, palms out. “We only wish to help.”

“We are a peaceful people but we can defend ourselves, Commander,” the leader replies benevolently.

“Not against the Klingons, you can’t,” McCoy interjects, and this time Spock ignores him.

“Your Excellency, the threat is real,” he says. 

The threat is _very_ real. So real, in fact, that neither the _Enterprise_ nor the top tactical mind of the generation, one James Tiberius Kirk, could be spared for this vitally important diplomatic mission when multiple Klingon warbirds were sighted in the area.

 _‘I can’t give you Uhura, I might need her Klingon,’_ Jim had told Spock before they left. _‘They asked for two senior officers, though, so who do you want with you?’_

It wasn’t a choice, really. Neither Sulu nor Scotty could be spared, and Chekov wasn’t senior enough for this. McCoy grumbled at the time, but he knew he was the only option.

 _‘I trust you, guys,’_ Jim had said sending them off. _‘We need to get through to them, and you’re the two most stubborn people I know. You can’t fail this. Bring them in.’_

Fuck you, Jim, McCoy thinks, scowling at the Adenians. Fuck you very much.

“I mean no offense,” Spock is saying, his tone soft, persuasive, “but you are only one world against the collective power of an aggressive star empire. The odds are not in your favor.”

“We understand that, Commander Spock. But we would rather take our chances than betray the foundations of our society,” the Adenian leader replies. “If the Federation’s intentions are truly as pure as you say, and if it’s based on the principles as noble as you would have us believe, then we do not understand why you would be unwilling to prove it.”

Spock doesn’t reply immediately, and yeah, McCoy thinks grimly, she’s got him there. He glances at McCoy with a kind of veiled speculation. 

“Your Excellency, are you saying that you will only accept an alliance with the Federation on this condition? Could some other measure perhaps—”

“No, Commander.” She shakes her head. “It is the only way we can accept.”

“I understand.” Spock inclines his head politely. “May I have a word with my colleague in private?”

“Of course. We will await your decision.”

They are guided into a smaller conference room and left alone. 

“Okay, for the record,” McCoy explodes the moment the door is closed, “this is insane.”

Spock assumes his customary at-ease stance, hands clasped behind his back, looking both alert and confident, as he contemplates the view through a huge open window.

“We are not obligated to do this,” he says with infuriating calm. “Starfleet can demand a lot of its officers, but not this. We can refuse.”

“And leave these people to the Klingons?” McCoy scoffs. “I’m not that attached to my dignity.”

“Starfleet could send another team of envoys with full understanding of the matter.”

“In what time? Do you think this will be before or after the Klingons get tired of playing hide-and-seek and figure out we only have one ship in the area? We don’t have a choice, Spock.”

The Vulcan turns to look at him. “I will not order you to do this. I cannot in good conscience, and, even if I could, I would not.”

McCoy stares at him irritably. “Do you need me to say that I volunteer? Fine. I volunteer.”

Spock’s scrutiny is unnerving. McCoy suppresses the urge to shift from foot to foot.

“Doctor,” Spock says slowly at long last, “I might not be the expert on human emotionalism, but I do not believe that you possess the kind of personality that would allow you to treat this matter lightly.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “I’m not a china doll, Spock. It’s just sex, for God’s sake. Believe it or not, I’ve had it before. And I’m a doctor, dammit. It’s just a physical act. They could have asked us to do a number two in public or watch us brush our teeth or something. It’ll be awkward as hell, but I think I can handle it.” He looks at Spock in sudden suspicion. “If anything, I should be asking _you_ this. You’re a Vulcan. Not that I’m an expert or anything” – he makes a face –“but I’m guessing public sex is far from something you’re culturally comfortable with.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow. “Personally comfortable? No. Recognizing the logical necessity? Of course. It is, as you said, merely a physical act. My heritage, in fact, provides me with an advantage over you. I do not need to be emotionally engaged in the process.” 

“Right,” McCoy drawls, annoyed. “You can perform on command, unlike the rest of us, mere mortals.”

Spock ignores his tone. “Correct. My primary concern, therefore, is for you. I realize the implications of the situation for the Adenians. However, should we choose to decline, their own persistence in this matter would be their undoing. As your superior officer,” he pauses, “as your friend, I am disinclined to allow this, should it compromise your physical or emotional well-being.”

McCoy stares at him, mouth agape, robbed of speech for a moment. His Spock-to-Standard isn’t as effortless as Jim’s or Uhura’s, but he’s gotten pretty good over the years, and he’s damn sure he’s got it right this time. Spock has pretty much just told him that, if McCoy isn’t okay with this, the Adenians can more or less go fuck themselves for being pig-headed, close-minded fools.

There’s no doubt that Spock would never actually leave these people to be killed or enslaved for the simple crime of being incredibly stupid, but the fact that he’s willing to give McCoy an out is…

 _As your friend_.

Well, hell.

“Spock,” he says, before Spock says something even more disturbing. “Let’s just get it over with. I’ve seen you laugh, actually _laugh_ at my joke. Trust me, as traumatizing experiences go, having sex with you is nothing, compared to that.”

Spock’s eyes narrow. “I had been delirious from blood loss at the time.”

“That makes it more traumatizing, not less. Let’s do it and get the hell out of here.”

He moves to brush past Spock toward the door, but Spock catches him by the wrist.

“Are you certain?”

His heart skips a beat, but McCoy pushes his chin up stubbornly and smirks. “If you ever repeat that, I’ll deny it, but you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, Spock. I’ll just try not to think of you as, well, _you_ , and we should be fine.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow at that, but releases him. 

“Very well,” he says. “I shall inform our hosts.”

\--

McCoy’s bravado disappears somewhere between being ushered into a ‘private’ room and being explained the rules. The walls are opaque from within, transparent from the outside. They will be seen, but not heard. They will have an audience of thirty, including the leader herself. They may take as much time as they need, and anything they ask for will be delivered. 

McCoy finds himself barking out a list of supplies before he knows it, but he’s a doctor, dammit. Next to public sex, the last thing they need is bad public sex. He’s locked up in the room with Spock faster than he can realize what has happened, and wonders where the time has gone. 

It’s a grey utilitarian bedroom, with one bed, a nightstand that has everything he’d asked for on display, and not much else. Everything is oppressing and murky, and McCoy looks around, probing the walls with his eyes, trying to see through them. 

They are being watched. Their every move is being watched.

He shudders.

Spock isn’t looking at him, as though trying to minimize his discomfort. As though it might help somehow. He’s busy divesting himself of his tricorder, phaser, two PADDs – McCoy watches the growing pile of equipment in bewilderment. 

“Always come prepared, huh?” he quips, unable to help himself.

“Indeed,” Spock responds mildly, not rising to the bait. 

He has taken a long time to arrange everything to his satisfaction, McCoy realizes belatedly. Before he can say anything, though, Spock glances up.

“Are you ready?”

No, McCoy wants to say. Not even close. He’s never been less inclined to have sex in his life. 

Spock steps closer to him, watching him carefully. He lifts a hand and places it on Leonard’s chest, right over his heart. Leonard winces. 

“Match my breaths,” Spock says in a gentle tone Leonard has never heard before. “Don’t think. Just match my rhythm. Focus.”

Leonard closes his eyes and does. He knows what Spock is trying to do, and he’s grateful. Leonard should be doing this. He’s been trained in this, he knows how. Thank God for Spock, he thinks suddenly. He doesn’t think he could have handled this with anyone else.

He thinks about the Christmas party last year, back before Altamid, before they finally broke Pike’s _Enterprise_ one time too many. Of course he thinks about that Christmas party, how can he not. 

_It was fun and games then, with everyone staring at them, expecting some massive blowout. Spock and McCoy, the first officer and the CMO, who’d never exchanged a word that wasn’t wrapped in ten layers of sarcasm, who’d nearly come to blows at least twice and routinely conversed in insults, are stuck under a mistletoe in a crowded rec room._

_The crew expect them to be embarrassed or insulted or both, the anticipation is building up palpably. The crew doesn’t know shit about that Vulcan if they think he’d run away, McCoy remembers thinking with almost indecent glee._

_He meets Spock’s eyes that are challenging but also warm like molten cinnamon, one upswept eyebrow lifted up in an unmistakable invitation. McCoy smirks at him, feeling pride bubble up in his chest, and knows then that they are allies in this, as they have been, unnoticed, in so many other things._

_He steps closer, ignoring the catcalls and shouted suggestions, and Spock is waiting for him, quiet and calm, watching, clearly aware of his intent, doing nothing to avoid it._

_McCoy doesn’t waste time overthinking it. He reaches out, cups Spock’s face gently in his hands, and kisses him full on the mouth._

_He doesn’t expect resistance or participation, Spock allowing this completely illogical display is probably more than enough. Except Spock could never stand to be outdone; maybe he’s been spending too much time with Jim, or maybe he already was like this before they even met, but the point is, he jumps right in._

_And how, McCoy thinks, grinning into the kiss when he feels strong hands press against the small of his back, holding him in place with no hesitation or modesty, and then Spock opens for him, and McCoy gasps, because who knew it would feel this good. Their audience be damned, he would have no problem doing this all night._

_They come apart eventually, and McCoy grins brightly, if dazedly, at the room that has gone berserk. Uhura whistles so loudly, several people wince, Jim is laughing, Chekov is staring, Sulu and Scotty are exchanging money, and everyone is clapping._

_Spock looks as smug as he knows how without actually cracking an expression, and he’s still standing too close, hand resting casually between McCoy’s shoulder blades._

It’s all fun and giggles, but it’s not like that now. This, too, is a performance, but there’s nothing remotely humorous about it.

“How do you want to do this?” McCoy asks, stepping back, words falling flat in the grey sterility of the room. 

He’s calmed down some, feels more himself now. Tense as hell, but no longer close to hyperventilating.

Spock gives him an unreadable look while unzipping his tunic. “I have no preference under the circumstances.”

McCoy’s mouth twists unhappily. “Yeah, I can’t believe this is happening, either.” He jerks at the zipper of his jacket, but it’s stuck halfway. He jerks it again, sharper. “Dammit, what’s _wrong_ with this thing?”

A pair of hands covers his own, stilling them. “Leonard.”

Stubbornly, McCoy doesn’t meet his eyes, staring at their hands instead. Spock’s fingers are long and strong, confident lying on top of his. 

“I recognize that the situation is unpleasant,” Spock says, calm as ever. McCoy snorts humorlessly, still looking down. “But we will do what we have always done. We will do what we must. We will complete the mission. We will return to the _Enterprise_.”

McCoy closes his eyes, feeling the fight going out of him. “Shit.” He shakes his head, annoyed at himself. “Sorry, Spock. You’re right.”

He pushes at Spock’s hands, prompting him to release him, and pulls at the zipper carefully. It slides down smoothly. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air purposefully. He’s been trained to handle situations like this, dammit. It’s just sex, for crying out loud. And it must be ten times worse for Spock than it is for him, yet Spock isn’t the one freaking out. That, right there, is the reason, McCoy thinks, why Spock is an executive officer, and McCoy is just an old country doctor.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Spock says softly. “But I would prefer it if you looked at me.”

Guilt spills sharp like acid. McCoy’s eyes fly up to meet Spock’s. He finds nothing but steady support there, with a hint of sympathy.

“If you trust me,” Spock says, quieter than before, “I believe I can… speed up the proceedings.”

“I trust you,” McCoy says automatically, but he turns away from Spock again.

“I—” Spock pauses. A barely audible sigh. “You will not be required to participate. Your cooperation will be sufficient.”

There’s something wrong with the way he says it, and the words themselves. McCoy feels ashamed suddenly. Spock doesn’t have to carry it all himself. He’s volunteering, because McCoy’s being a whiny infant, but he shouldn’t have to.

“No,” McCoy says, decisive, turning around. “If we’re doing this, we’re really doing this.” 

He shrugs out of his jacket, steps closer, and pulls Spock in by the back of the neck. Spock’s eyes widen ever so slightly at his sudden proximity.

Lips hovering millimeters away from Spock’s, Leonard mutters, “But if I’m getting hell for this from Uhura later, _you’re_ dealing with it.”

“That,” Spock replies, a warm gust of air across his lips that makes Leonard shiver, “will not present an issue.”

Leonard moves in, but Spock pulls back. “Do I need to be concerned about Jim’s reaction to this?”

Leonard stares at him. “Funny. This was going to be _my_ next question to _you_.”

Spock blinks. “I see.”

“This is fucked up. Not just this.” Leonard gestures between them. “All of this, all of us.”

“I object to your use of profanity, but I suspect you might be factually correct.”

“Well.” McCoy actually grins. “What are we going to do about it?”

“If you wish, I could—”

Leonard leans in and kisses him. 

“I don’t care who watches,” he murmurs against Spock’s mouth. “I ain’t having sex with you unless I can kiss you. Unless I can see your face. Unless I can look at you and know that it’s you I’m doing this with.”

Spock offers no objection or encouragement, but his lips yield and part, almost welcoming, his hands coming to rest on Leonard’s waist, pulling him closer. Spock is one of the most attractive people Leonard has ever met, and he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it, had never wondered what it would be like, in spite of or maybe because of their endless arguments. Yes, this isn’t a perfect situation, and they have an audience, again, and there’s a wide gap between engaging in idle fantasy and acting on it, but if there’s any one thing that kissing Spock definitely isn’t, it’s a hardship.

True to his word, Spock is efficient and dexterous, his touch-telepathy helping, no doubt, because by the time they help each other out of their clothes, Leonard is almost painfully hard. He feels as though he’s ingested an aphrodisiac, his head swimming, skin beginning to feel too tight, too hot. He feels drunk and he can’t tear himself away from Spock.

He feels a little guilty for enjoying this, Spock’s body stretched long and beautiful beneath him on the bed, his skin flushed green, resonating with every touch. And Spock must be directing this show, ‘speeding up the proceedings’ as he promised, but, when Leonard sucks his earlobe into his mouth, there is something in the way Spock gasps that makes it feel helpless, unintentional, _unplanned_. 

Leonard redoubles his efforts, pressing unwise, forceful kisses to the long line of his neck, leaving marks that would be hard to explain, and Spock isn’t making noises, not exactly, but the rhythm of his breathing changes, his mouth goes slack for a moment, and his eyes, his ever-present give-away, sizzle. Leonard grabs his hands, pushes them over Spock’s head, presses him down, palm to palm, enjoying the way Spock arches under him, all that taut, relentless power fighting him without really fighting, and everywhere they touch feels like liquid fire.

He lets Spock go eventually to let him flip over, and it should be easier, there and done, but it’s not, because Leonard can’t see his face anymore, and there’s something unsettling about it. Spock braces himself against the bed, the graceful line of his back dipped down, the skin at the base of his spine glistening with lube from where his hand must have slipped before, and Leonard frowns, because Spock is never imprecise, never uncertain, and _this means something_.

Leonard feels torn between wanting for it to be over and trying to be gentle, and there’s a part of him that wants neither of those things, and he feels a sharp pang of guilt. Spock doesn’t make a sound as Leonard enters him, but his hands claw at the bed sheets, expressive and louder than a scream.

He pushes back, of course he does, and Leonard leans over him as they move, kissing the back of his neck, his shoulders, slipping a hand under his arm to curl around the base of his throat, and this was never in anyone’s script, but he’s past the point of caring. His vision tunnels, throwing him into some place where everything’s too hot, too slick, too tight, too _much_ , and he doesn’t feel in control of anything. Distantly he feels Spock’s fingers interlace with his, holding on so firmly it hurts, it actually hurts, and Leonard muffles a scream that bursts out of his chest burying his face in Spock’s shoulder, teeth breaking the tender skin just above his collarbone.

Spock gives him a moment, before sliding down, and makes to move away, but Leonard stops him. Disoriented, dizzy, still _high_ , he pushes Spock until he rolls over. Spock is biting his lip, trying to turn his face away, but Leonard doesn’t let him.

“Forgive me,” Spock says, struggling for control, breathless, but determined. “You do not have to — I can do this myself.”

His eyes meet Leonard’s briefly before flitting away. He looks absolutely _wrecked_.

“‘Do not need to be emotionally engaged,’ eh?” McCoy repeats in utter disbelief. “Can’t believe I bought this bullshit, you stubborn, green-blooded, self-sacrificing moron…”

Spock opens his mouth to argue, instantly up for the challenge, because some things never change, but Leonard shakes his head and kisses him, and keeps on kissing him as he wraps his hand around Spock and starts jerking him off, methodically, confidently, feeling Spock’s whole body whine with the need for release. 

Spock’s eyes drift shut and Leonard kisses him through it, chasing after every shudder, every tiny reflexive motion, every soft, barely-there exhalation. He’s still kissing Spock after it’s all over, a deep, drugging kiss, lazy and savoring and completely unnecessary at this point, except – Spock likes it. Leonard isn’t a telepath, but he would bet his medical license that Spock likes this most of all, likes being kissed, likes that intimate, intrusive caress that serves no logical purpose and that is more personal, way more personal than the sex itself.

When he finally makes himself stop, eventually, he has to, he finds Spock gazing up at him, his expression relaxed, but completely unreadable, a slight frown wedged between his brows as though Leonard is a puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Leonard clears his throat. “We should probably—”

Spock blinks, refocusing, and nods. “Yes.” 

His voice has gone down an octave, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Leonard sucks in a breath and doesn’t look at his lips or the marks he left, visible already against the space-pale skin of Spock’s throat. He doesn’t think he can look and not reach out.

They clean up and dress in silence. Spock looks and acts the same as always, but Leonard has to literally bite his tongue at least three times not to ask the question. 

Spock adjusts his collar, the final touch, and gives McCoy the most openly long-suffering look he has received to date. 

“Yes, Leonard,” he says, exasperation coloring his voice so very slightly, but it’s Spock, so it’s enough. “I am all right.”

Leonard throws his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.” He pauses. “But um. Good to know.”

Spock gives him another telling look, one that is suddenly all _‘I am your superior officer and you are trying my patience’_ , and gestures him toward the door. 

\--

McCoy didn’t have any time to think about what kind of reception they’d get from the Adenians after the fact. Now that the moment is on him, he thinks he’d start throwing punches the second he sees anyone smirk, diplomacy be damned.

But it’s all surprisingly business-like, polite respectful nods all around, and the hum of normal conversation. Until the leader steps out from within their ranks, beaming, and launches herself at McCoy to wrap him in an enthusiastic hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers as he staggers under her unexpected weight. “My colleagues are too conservative for their own good. There was no way I could get them to accept your help without this. You’ve just saved us all.”

“Er…” He fumbles awkwardly. “You’re welcome?”

She releases him and turns to Spock, her intent obvious. McCoy surprises himself by stepping in her way. 

“I apologize, Your Excellency,” he hears himself say with a distant sense of horror. “Commander Spock is a Vulcan; they are touch-telepaths. He tends to avoid casual physical contact whenever possible.”

He can feel Spock stiffen behind him, but doesn’t move.

“Oh.” The Adenian leader looks taken aback. Then her expression clears. “In that case, you have honored us beyond what we could have asked for, Commander,” she says and steps around McCoy to give Spock a respectful bow. “I give you the honor of my name,” she raises her voice for the entire room to hear. “It is Raeesa.”

McCoy had read the mission briefing. There was enough information on the Adenian for him to realize that a declaration like that means they have just miraculously hit it out of the ballpark.

Spock bows low, unquestionably conscious of the same. “I thank you for the honor, Your Excellency. Be assured, it is treasured. Shall we discuss the particularities of the treaty?”

“Of course. Right this way, Commander.”

“Er, excuse me?” McCoy finds himself speaking without making a conscious decision about it again. “Terribly sorry, but can someone get him a glass of water before all that?”

Both Spock and Raeesa are staring at him. 

McCoy clears his throat in a suddenly quiet room. “Sorry, I’m really just looking out for you, ma’am. You don’t want to deal with him when he’s dehydrated.”

The Adenian’s lips twitch. That right there, McCoy thinks, admitting defeat, is the expression worthy of being punched out.

“Of course, Doctor. We will see to the refreshments and anything else you need.”

“Thank you,” McCoy calls after her to avoid looking at Spock. When he can ignore it no longer, he snaps, “What?”

Spock steps closer, his tone deceptively neutral when he speaks. “Doctor, while I appreciate your concern, you are not in any way more responsible for me now than you have been before this mission.”

“Shit, Spock.” McCoy closes his eyes, because dignity? What dignity? “I’m doing this for me, not for you, okay? You said you cared once, so shut up, and let me get you a damn glass of water.”

He couldn’t look Spock in the eye at that moment if you paid him. But Spock, bless him, says nothing more.

\--

The Adenians are incredibly easy to deal with after that. McCoy watches Spock at work with no small amount of pleasure. Within the next four hours, Spock gets them to up Starfleet representation from two ships to seven, maneuvers them into not only allowing the construction of a starbase, but somehow believing it was their own idea, and receives a gift of six warp-grade dilithium crystals as a token of good will.

Sarek, McCoy thinks, wildly amused, would either be intensely proud or horrified.

The _Enterprise_ picks them up on schedule, right after the celebratory feast. Jim is waiting for them in the transporter room, beaming. Spock’s expression softens visibly at the sight of him, and McCoy feels something settle heavy in his stomach, a grounding weight.

Home, sweet home, he thinks, more cognizant of the irony than ever.

Jim finds him in his office later that day. Not that McCoy had any serious delusions that he’d be able to avoid this, but hope is a treacherous little weasel.

“So, funny story,” Jim says, sprawling in the guest chair and swinging his feet onto McCoy’s desk. “Spock has nothing but good things to say about you in his report, which isn’t actually that surprising. But he doesn’t go into specifics, and that’s really weird. For him.”

“Is it? Hm.”

Jim’s eyes narrow. “He also wrote that the two of you had to undergo a local ritual to convince the Adenians to trust you, but he gives no description of it. That’s not just weird for Spock, that’s actually against the regs. When I asked him about it, he said that ‘the ritual had presented no cultural significance.’”

McCoy snorts. “Well, he got that right.”

“Aha.” Jim watches him closely, like a cat, ambushing a mouse. “You know, the only other time I can remember when he got that cagey in an official report was after he and I got stuck in that Deltan hot box, and I’d gone a little crazy, and we all know how that goes. He had to nerve-pinch me. That shit leaves you with a nasty kink in your neck.”

“Mhm.”

“Bones. You don’t have a kink in your neck, do you?”

“Not really, no.”

“Why don’t you have a kink in your neck?”

“Probably because I wasn’t an annoying little shit who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”

“That wasn’t my fault, and you’re avoiding the question.”

More silence.

“ _Bones_.”

“Oh my God, Jim, what?” McCoy glares at him. “What do you want me to say?”

Jim straightens up, his gaze turning from teasing to serious in an instant. “For starters, will I have a problem on the bridge because two of my senior officers were forced to have sex?” he asks with deadly precision.

“No.” McCoy scowls at him, genuinely offended. “We’re capable of being professional, _Captain_.”

“Good.” Jim doesn’t back off one bit. “Will I have a problem with my best friend having his heart broken?”

“Oh, that’s rich. First of, which one of us do you mean by that?”

Jim doesn’t look abashed, doesn’t deny it. “Either. I’m talking to you right now.”

“Only because you’ve already tried with Spock, and that got you nowhere.”

“Oh my God, Bones, just answer the damn question.”

“I don’t know!” McCoy snaps, then sucks in a breath. Calmer, he says, “No. I don’t think so. It just… got a little intense down there.”

“Spock seems okay,” Jim observes neutrally. 

McCoy shakes his head. “He was incredible. He – shit, Jim. I’m the goddamn _doctor_ ; I should have been able to get my shit together. Spock just – he – pulled me through that entire thing. He got us both through it. I’m ashamed to say, but if it was me and anyone else down there, we wouldn’t have an alliance right now.”

“Not even if it was me?” Jim asks, grinning.

“Oh God, don’t even joke about it.”

Jim laughs. “Don’t worry, Bones. I love you, but not like that.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “You love everyone like that. At least a little bit.”

“A little bit,” Jim agrees, easy. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Jim.”

“‘Fine’ has variable definitions.”

McCoy grins. “Yes, as we all have been informed ad nauseam. Go chase some Klingons for a change, kid. Spock didn’t break me.”

“If you ever need to talk—”

“I’ll be sure _not_ to come to you. Go on, get.”

When Jim leaves, though, his mirth dies down quickly. No, Spock didn’t break him. 

He didn’t. 

He. Did. Not. 

They are adults, for Christ’s sake. Two months from now so much new shit will happen that this entire mess will be a distant memory. They’ll be making jokes about it. _Remember that time when I had to sleep with Spock? I thought he’d punch me in the face, but he didn’t. It was the best day ever._

God, he needs a drink.

\--

It almost goes down that way, except it doesn’t. They’re back to ‘green-blooded hobgoblin’ and ‘beads and rattles’ within a week, and McCoy breathes a quiet sigh of relief with every successfully delivered insult. Neither of them avoids the other, it’s all very mature and professional. Jim even stops watching the two of them with a decided lack of subtlety whenever they’re in the same room. Business as usual.

Then Spock gets a goddamn crossbow bolt in the chest, and McCoy very nearly loses it. He doesn’t show it, powers through. The last thing he needs is to be relieved of duty because he’s not so much emotionally compromised as completely fucked up. He’s not in love with Spock, _for fuck’s sake_. It’s just – this is just—

The wound is messy, but mercifully easy to treat. His hands don’t shake, his voice doesn’t waver, his mind doesn’t blank out, and he doesn’t reach out to keep Spock in place when it’s done and Spock moves to dive back into action. He congratulates himself on putting on a great show.

Until Jim corners him back on the ship and says quietly, “Yeah, I really hate to break it to you, but you’ve got it bad. Take it from someone who’s been there, wishing it away won’t help.”

“Jim,” McCoy calls after him. “What will?”

Jim’s smile is sardonic. “If I ever find out, I’ll let you know.”

“Great,” McCoy mutters to the empty transporter room. “That’s just perfect.”

McCoy has never been the sitting-on-the-porch-gazing-at-the-stars kind of guy, but two days later Spock finds him sitting on the floor on an otherwise empty observation deck. 

“May I?” Spock asks and folds himself neatly, sitting on his knees, before McCoy has a chance to answer. Without preamble – it’s Spock, after all, and he’s nothing if not direct, he says, “It appears you have underestimated the effect our experience on Adenia would have on you.”

“Jesus, Spock.” McCoy snorts, shaking his head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“As you wish,” Spock acquiesces easily. “I, too, seem to have made the same error.”

Slowly, McCoy turns to look at him. “Really? You? Error? Doesn’t compute, sorry.”

“As I have stated previously, I am not an expert on human emotionalism—”

McCoy laughs, loud and rude, but not really meaning to hurt. Spock is sometimes so very precious. “Good God, Spock. If anyone ever tells you they’re an expert in that, just know that you’re facing the biggest bullshitter who’s ever lived. And yes, I’m including Jim and myself in this.”

“I see.” Spock watches him with no evident judgment. “I was going to say that, according to my unprofessional observation, your method of processing the event appears to be unsuccessful.”

“You could say that again.” He looks at Spock quickly. “But please don’t. I’m nursing the remains of my ego here.”

“I am experiencing a similar difficulty.”

McCoy stills. “Really.”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Leonard. Why is it so difficult to believe?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You nerve-pinched Jim.”

Spock looks unconcerned. “He was being obnoxious and not responsible for his actions. I would not have had he been himself and serious.”

“Huh.” McCoy rubs the back of his neck. “Always good to know that something like that is also out there. So where do we go from here?”

“I do not know,” Spock admits. “But ignoring the issue seemed—”

“Illogical?”

“Inefficient.”

“The magic word.” McCoy looks at him, strangely calm if still at a loss. “Would you nerve-pinch me if I told you that I really want to kiss you right now?”

Spock blinks and locks eyes with him. “No.”

Spock being Spock, this is probably the most encouragement McCoy is ever going to get. He leans forward, and Spock meets him halfway.

It’s everything he remembers only better. Spock knows him now. He pushes, and McCoy pulls, and ends up on his back with Spock braced over him. 

“I find that I wish to do more than kiss you,” Spock confesses a few minutes later, voice breathy and low already from just this.

Leonard shudders. “We should either lock the door or move then.”

Hand sliding under Leonard’s tunic, Spock murmurs against his neck, “I have no preference.”

“Shit.” Leonard grabs at his shoulders, feeling that if he doesn’t hold on to something, he’ll drown. “Computer, lock door. Authorization—”

He’s never certain, not even after, if his command was followed or not, because Spock is kissing him senseless, and God, did Leonard miss this, the feeling of them pressed together, the strength of Spock’s body, the almost logical way they fit.

They do end up in his quarters later that night, and at some point Spock says, seemingly out of nowhere, “Perhaps we can understand it better with time.”

“How much time do you think?” Leonard asks hoarsely, throat still raw. 

Spock presses closer against him. “It is a complex issue.”

Leonard laughs himself to sleep.

\--

They wake up to the sound of Red Alert, but that’s nothing new, and if anyone’s going to notice that Spock is wearing a blue shirt with incorrect rank insignia, they’d do well to keep their mouths shut.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Infinite Complexities](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142813) by [Night (Night_Inscriber)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Inscriber/pseuds/Night)




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